


Only the Beginning

by sElkieNight60



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics), Teen Titans: Year One
Genre: Angst, Bruce Wayne - Freeform, CW: Canonical Child Abuse, Dick Grayson - Freeform, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Teen Titans: Year One - Freeform, no editing, we die like robins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:47:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27206866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sElkieNight60/pseuds/sElkieNight60
Summary: Dick had known something was wrong. But still, some part of him thought that maybe Batman was just in a grouchy mood. If he did a little more, worked a little harder… Bruce would let him stay. Maybe even be proud of him.The forceful, violent back-hand to his face smacked the thought right out of his head.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 46
Kudos: 196





	1. Jewellery Store

**Author's Note:**

> You know that scene in Teen Titans: Year One. Yeah, _that_ scene? Well, I felt the need to share my thoughts on it through the medium of fanfic and the point of view of one, young Dick Grayson because it came across my tumblr dash today.
> 
> Enjoy!

**Part One**

* * *

Dick had _known_ something was wrong.

He'd said it out loud, to Wally, even.

But still, some part of him thought that maybe Batman was just in a grouchy mood.

Maybe Dick just wasn't pulling his weight.

If he did a little more…

Worked a little harder…

Bruce would let him stay.

Maybe even be proud of him.

The forceful, violent back-hand to his face smacked the thought right out of his head. Robin had felt the sting of a punch before, thugs and criminals alike had branded his skin with bruises. Never, though, had Batman physically laid a hand on him. Not like this.

The punch sent him flying.

Batman was twice his height and nearly three times his weight. Dick was barely a twig in comparison. Lighter than a leaf. Bruce could pick him up and snap him in half if he so chose.

The power behind it left him stunned like a fish as he sailed though the air and landed heavily on something behind him. The wind was knocked right out of him. His ears were ringing. His head was spinning. He almost didn't catch what Batman said next. He almost wished he _hadn't._

The growl was red hot like a poker, Bruce's voice promising violence.

“We're through,” he spat, and Dick could have sworn his heart stopped right then and there. “Don't bother coming home.”

Suddenly, Batman disappeared through the doorway, with Dick left to do nothing but stare after him, his mind completely blank.

_It had finally happened._

Dick felt wetness pooling at the corners of his eyes, powerless to stop it, but he almost wanted to laugh. A coiled ball of manic hysteria bubbling in his stomach wanted to break free in barks of mirthless laughter.

It had finally happened.

Almost a whole eight months into being Robin and Bruce had decided he was finally done; he couldn't deal with Dick anymore. This was finally the end for them. Dick would end up back in juvie or more likely, on the street. Batman had, after all, just left him here in this tiny jewellery store run by what seemed to be a very lovely couple. Right now, though, he really wished they weren't here, looking about as helpless as he felt. All Dick wanted to do was curl up in a dark corner and sob.

Really, he knew it shouldn't have come as such a big surprise. From the very first day he'd set foot in Wayne Manor, he knew he hadn't belonged. The part of his brain that fed his nightmares always reminded him that his safety was temporary. Wayne Manor, Alfred, Bruce, it was all temporary. One day they would get sick of him and send him back. One day Bruce would scowl in disgust and finally decide he couldn't have a dirty circus kid living with him anymore, just like all the kids in school had always teased.

_It had always been temporary._

One toe over the line and he would be going back. Back to jail with all the other unwanted kids. Back in a box where no one had to look at him. Back where no one loved him. Dick had never belonged in the manor. Out of all the kids that deserved a home, he'd just chanced it. Bruce hadn't been looking for a kid then, though. He most certainly didn't want one now.

It had always been temporary.

A Christmas pet, that was what he was to Bruce. A shiny toy, a new thing to gawk at and show off at parties. Dick didn't want to believe it, but scrubbing at the tear tracks slipping beneath his mask meant it had to be true. He'd thought… he'd thought at least Bruce had cared about him… at least just a little. At least enough not to leave him in the middle of down-town Gotham on his own. And Dick had _tried._ He really had. He had tried to be everything Bruce wanted. A good detective, smart and dedicated. A charming ward, someone that could dazzle the old socialites despite what they said about him. Helpful, needed, _wanted_.

What had it all been for in the end?

A feminine voice sounded behind him. It was the old lady who owned the shop, grandmotherly in appearance and soft-spoken as she approached him. She had blazing white hair, a piggy nose and striking blue eyes, her bangs framing one side of her face.

Dick wiped away the blood from his split lip as best he could, but it smeared across his gauntlet. One arm was all that was supporting him, albeit unsteadily as he reached up to grip the counter, broken glass like grit beneath his gloves.

“Are you okay?” the elderly wife asked, rushing over with a handkerchief clutched in one fist.

Dick managed to pull himself up, finally standing on his own two feet.

“Oh dear,” she said, sympathy spread through barely disguised sadness. “Did he hurt you?”

Dick couldn't focus on her words. His head was still reeling and he felt numb with shock. Instead, his eyes drifted to the picture of a white cat on her blue t-shirt, the only thing grounding him to the earth now that he felt so adrift.

The husband came hurrying over from the other side of the counter too. He was not as grey in appearance as his wife. Thinner, with yellowing hair and a moustache, he had intelligent eyes, framed by square glasses.

“Here,” said the woman, trying to fuss as she shoved her handkerchief in his face. “Let me—”

“I'm alright,” Dick interrupted, pushing her well-meaning away. The handkerchief lowered.

“Son,” said the elderly man, voice croaky and still just a little bit shaken. “Are you sure you're okay?” He came closer and clutched his wife's hand just as Dick started for the entrance.

The golden light of the setting sun shone through the door like atmospheric gold.

The world beyond it was suddenly too big.

Less than ten minutes ago, Dick had a home. A place to go back to. A man that loved him, if not someone he was slowly beginning to think of as a second father.

Now, what was beyond that door?

A street. A city. Cold, broken and empty. A world that didn't care about orphan kids like him. A system that failed them.

The mark of Batman's fist on his cheek throbbed painfully.

“Son?” Inquired the man again, after Dick had failed to respond, sounding more unsure this time. “Do you want us to call your parents?”

Robin froze in the doorway, one hand trembling.

“No,” he said, finally. Determination and resolve filled his chest.

This wasn't Batman. This wasn't _Bruce._

There was something happening to him and Robin was going to find out what it was.

Batman might be through with him, but Dick wasn't done with Bruce just yet.

“No,” he reaffirmed, more strongly this time, hand already on the door knob. “Something is wrong with him. And I'm going to find out what.”

And with that, Dick raced out of the shop.

This wasn't the end, this was only the beginning.


	2. Soup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fact that Alfred had not actually answered his question, however, did not escape Dick's notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts happened. Editing, however, once again did not. (Feel free to point out errors if you see them!)

**Part Two**

* * *

Mind control.

That had been the culprit.

A monster called Antithesis who had hitched a ride back to Earth inside the members of the Justice League.

Dick had somehow never felt more relieved.

Bruce and he had returned to the manor and the man had promptly gone to bed, citing a hangover from the after-effects of having an alien being invade the far reaches of his mind. It must have been bad then, Dick thought, if Bruce was willingly getting some rest.

Alfred greeted him in the kitchen as he stepped through the entranceway, Dick unable to move his feet further than the threshold of the door.

It felt odd being back here. Since he'd thought… no, it didn't matter. It wasn't Bruce's fault he'd said those things.

_Mind control, that wasn't Bruce._

Alfred arched a curious eyebrow as Dick continued to linger in the door, a silent prompt that worked to move his feet toward the barstool. Without being asked, Alfred began to retrieve various items from the cupboard, stacking them on the counter-top as Dick felt small and suddenly out of place in the manor.

“I'm sure you must be rather hungry,” the elderly butler said without a backwards glance, nose still in the pantry.

 _Did Alfred even know what had happened?_ Dick wondered, thinking back on the day's events. With the help of Speedy, Wonder Girl, Kid Flash and Aqualad, it had only taken him half the night to wrest Batman out from the mind controlling alien, though it had felt like days.

Realistically, it hadn't been. He knew that. To Alfred, the pair of them would have gone out on patrol only to return home slightly later than usual. The blossoming bruise on his cheek and the split lip could be explained away as a thug happening to get in a very good punch. It was a good thing Dick didn't have school in the morning. Thank god for Saturday sleep-ins.

“Alfred,” he began slowly, softly, picking at the lint of his track-pants. “Do you… think Bruce will ever get sick of me?”

Unexpectedly, Alfred froze. Honest to god, his hand stopped mid-air, reaching for something out of Dick's view. Then, very deliberately, as though hyper aware of every limb, Alfred lowered his arm and turned carefully towards him. Ancient grey eyes pinned him with a look that was neither harsh nor sympathetic, but it pierced right through Dick nonetheless.

“Why would you ask that?” Alfred said, gaze ever-so-slightly narrowed, voice intentionally even, expression measured.

Dick felt seen in a rather horrible way. He wanted to retract the words, put them back in his mouth and close it all up. But he couldn't do that. So, instead, he shrugged.

“I don't know…” he mumbled, dropping his eyes back to his pants and picking at them with renewed fervour. Maybe Alfred would drop it.

Alfred moved around the bench and parked himself on the barstool beside Dick, a withered and wrinkly, but considered hand coming to rest on his own bony shoulder.

A soft sigh. “Master Richard,” he began anew, still just as soft and gentle as before, but this time carrying a degree of concern. “Did something happen on patrol tonight?”

Dick was quick to shake his head and allay Alfred's fears. _Mind control,_ he reminded himself, trying to block out the memory of Bruce's fist colliding with his face. Despite himself, he couldn't help but reach up to the red mark and blossoming bruise on his cheekbone. It smarted as his fingertips made faint contact.

Alfred sighed again, but didn't push. Instead, he moved off the kitchen stool and scooted back behind the cupboard, going for the first-aid kit beneath the silverware draw.

“We'll get some ice on that in a minute,” he stated, no room for argument. Dick didn't make one. For the briefest of moments, he wondered if he would ever be brave enough to argue Bruce again.

After tonight, he couldn't see himself doing it.

 _Dick's place here was temporary,_ tonight had proven just how easily taken away it was. The rug was all too easily pulled out from beneath his feet; he would need to start planning, in case something like this ever happened again. Where he would go. Who he could turn to.

Alfred, a cotton ball, and some tweezers brought him back to the present.

“This might sting,” he said calmly, holding up the ball of white fluff, soaked through with some clear substance—disinfectant, most likely. “My apologies.”

Dick nodded, hissing and flinching only a little as the cotton came into contact with the tiny cuts on his cheek.

“There,” said Alfred finally, discarding the cotton, stained red in places, into the trash. “Not too bad, was it?”

Once again, all he could do was shake his head, barely feeling the throbbing parts of his face over the all-consuming numbness that threatening him within.

Quickly, Alfred packed away the medical supplies and began heating up some soup, shooting growing glances of worry his way every now and again.

Soon the hot soup was in front of him and the older man was pressing a spoon into his palm, urging him to eat at least a little. Dick didn't feel hungry, despite not having eaten much since breakfast. At Alfred's insistence, though, he began to slowly, one after the other, shovel spoonfuls between his parted lips.

It seemed to reassure Alfred, anyway.

Horrible thoughts plagued Dick as he sat quiet and still a little shaken from the day's events.

_The fact that Alfred had not actually answered his question, however, did not escape Dick's notice._

Finishing his soup, Dick pushed the bowl away, bid Alfred goodnight and hurried upstairs.

It was upsetting, almost. How nothing in his room had changed.

Before he went to sleep, Dick pulled out the duffle-bag from the bottom part of his closet and filled it with clothes.

If Bruce ever threw him out again, Dick would be prepared.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment or kudos if you liked this work! Also, if you want to make a new friend, come chat with me at [Tumblr](https://selkienight60.tumblr.com/).


End file.
